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This wasn't yet up to qs on cp wiki, but I did some edits to this ol' thing, and I think it might be up here.____________________________== New Commander ==

Johnson had been promoted to Sergeant First Class. He felt this as a great honor, and proudly took his badge and waited for new orders. He got them promptly from General Thompson, a simple mission to attack an insect infested area down in Arizona, where apparently 20 + soldiers had been trapped. He flicked through the files, seeing his new comrades he’d have to order.

The first one was Dexter. Dexter was a rookie to the army, with good training. He had a gruff face you would expect to see from coal miner. His profile said he was 22 and described him as ‘A complete robot. If you tell him to jump off a bridge he’ll ask if he can do a backflip’. Johnson placed the file in the back, he hated the goodie-goodies that just follow orders. He flicked to the next profile. Louis, a second-time attacker that will take any shot he can. His face made him look like a neighborhood newsboy that grew up, with soft cheeks and softer eyes. His profile said he was 17 and ‘Should always have an eye kept on him’. He placed that file on his bunk, and looked to the next one. Brixton, a actor who was drafted days if not hours ago. He looked as if he was ready to chuck a grenade into a crowd of insects, then charge in with a knife. He was a deep deep black, possibly from the west indies. His profile only said ‘28 Male’ which was unhelpful to Johnson.

I guess I’ll just have to find out myself.

He thought as he went to the last few files. The next one was Micheals. He looked like they went to a middle school, arranged them from most athletic to least athletic and took the guy in the strait middle. His profile said he was 14, and his face said he had never killed anything and never shot a gun.

*Sigh*, I guess it is a Sergeant FC’s job to take on the rookies.

He thought as he flicked to the next file. He was surprised to see his photo staring up at him, even though it was a decade old.

Someone must have just put everyone in the team here. Huh.

He thought as he curiously looked at his profile. It said he was 32, which was correct to reality but not corresponding with the photo in the slightest. Johnson had grown up on an old farm near the border, so had an abled body for fighting. He had been raised with a small family, his father, mother, sister, and grandfather. They were going through a tough time since he was born, low on food and water. But, they held together what they had. Johnson didn’t remember much from the farm he grew up on, since it had to be oh, fifteen, sixteen years ago since he had last seen it. He did remember that his grandfather would sit in this big rocking chair, and have him and his sister gather around. He’d tell stories of the army, and he’d make exciting. But in those stories the good guys always won, and that’s not how it works here. His grandfather had taken a walk when Johnson was fourteen, and an insect grabbed a hold of him and ripped him in half. There was a hole in the wall where he was walking, and the guards said it was patched and all. They gave us $1,000 dollars for our loss. He didn’t want money back then, he wanted his grandpa. He ran to his room crying uncontrollably. The next day he was recruited to the army and saluted his parents goodbye. He still hasn’t seen them since. A Lieutenant burst in, stopping his memory, and said with a gruff voice “It’s time”. Johnson nodded, collected his files, and left - Leaving only his file alone on the bunk.

== Oblivion ==

“DAMN CLONES!” Hollered Brixton as he spit out of the heli. Below them were 100 clones, blank at first but being programed with memories, looks, and personalities. Brixton slid back in and Louis laughed. They were heading to the operation point, which was only a few hundred miles from the California Base they were put in. Actually, it was 437 miles to be exact - as Michaels had said. The files said one thing, but each person seemed to have their own personality. Louis was the Comedian, Brixton was the hardass, Michaels was a nervous wreck that would state any facts when the time was right, Dexter really was the exception seeing his whole life was following his commander's orders. “Hey, I read somewhere that when clones go blind, they can sorta sense what’s in front of them.” Michaels blurted, sweat slowly forming and dripping from his forehead. No one responded. “Hey, I hear the bar down in Vegas is good.” Louis starts. “We have a leave of absence after the mission.” Brixton laughs and Michaels shows an unsteady smile. Dexter keeps his silence. Johnson knew he couldn’t let them think it was all going to go fine and dandy. He knew very well that every operation in the insects ended the same way. “One of us is going to die.” He said, expression cold. Brixton abruptly stopped and Michaels’ expression faded.

The rest of the heli ride was silent all except for the slash of propellers through air.

== Arizona ==

When they landed it was clear why nobody lived in Arizona anymore. The streets were filled with rubble and metal. There were burnt stones smashed on the ground where buildings were supposed to be. The whole damn place looked like a nuke hit it - and as far as the eye could see the conditions stayed constant. They advanced on through the city, looking for a quick in and out operation. Apparently the squadron had gone to the basement of a small house looking for survivors, and the ceiling caved in. Moving off the pavement, they paced around to the building, the debris filled ground squishing into our boots with a sloshy sound.

Splish Splosh.

Their footprints were quickly filled in with rubble and dirt every time we stepped down. Eventually they came upon the house. It looked more like a bunk, it couldn’t have more than 3 rooms. Dexter put his foot on the wood and it made a long creaking sound that puttered out. He stepped up completely, ready to see the floor collapse. It made a much louder creaking sound that lasted longer, but it didn’t collapse. Slowly but surely they made our way up the steps and into the house. They split up and scouted out for a door to the basement. It wasn’t a minute later when a bloodcurdling scream was heard, followed by a dull clicking sound. The team rushed to the source of the sound - the bedroom. Inside was a horror no one would soon forget. It was an insect, its horrid grotesque figure grasping Dexter. Its beady black eyes looked in random directions, and its rigid edges jutted out to shape into its ugly form. Its slobbering mandibles dug into Dex’s throat, as sticky red blood oozed and sprayed from it as he desperately fought for breath. More sounds of clicking was heard as the insect started to chew out Dexter’s trachea. Louis pulled out his pistol and shot the creature’s eye out, a trail of globbing green and black ooze shot from the back of its head. Johnson ran to Dex and kneeled holding his chin up. Dex’s eyes grew soft as he looked at him. Slowly, his gaze panned down and stared blankly ahead. Johnson let Dex fall to the ground and he stood, blood on his hand. He stood their for a minute, looking at Dex’s deformed face. “C’mon, let's go.” He said, his voice unwavering and cold. He had seen people die before, but had never had been the reason, the man who said the word that led to his death. They continued to search - quietly and pale.

== Cellar ==

“I FOUND IT!” Louis screamed from the bedroom, where Dex’s body was stored under the bed, blood congealing. The team rushed over, and Louis through on a fake smile - his face still very pale. He moved to show them an old wooden door, that had before gone unnoticed. He kicked the door showing rocks and stone blocking the entrance. Brixton nodded, and placed a pack of C4 on the pile. They ran back, expecting the worse. Brixton pulled out a trigger, and right before he clicked it Johnson could’ve sweared he saw a tear in his eye. After the blast had died down they heard the screaming. They all turned to an Insect, its sharp claws digging into Brixton’s chest. It was about to pull out his entrails, when Louis (Quick to the draw) blew a hole through it’s chest. It flung back, and green liquid shot out in blobs every second.

Plit. Plop. Plip. Plip.

It made a screeching noise like a knife being drawn across a chalkboard, and slowly died down to silence. Brixton struggled to his feet and immediately Louis and Johnson rushed to his side, pulling him up. Michaels stayed away, hyperventilating. Johnson shot him a glance - but he stood his ground.

Brixton pushed them back and coughed out “I can” which was followed by a wheeze and a wince. “Do this.” he finished, struggling to keep his intestines in his body as more blood flew out. Brixton pushed on through the cellar door, and everyone else followed.

After walking for a few yard, they saw a blink of light shining down on what they had to assume was the team they were searching for. Or what was left of them. They were torn to shred, ripped in half with horrified expressions on their dead faces. Blood coated the whole area around them, and mixed in with whatever other juices were in them. Organs splattered the walls and floors. The whole scene was so gruesome, Michaels heaved, and everyone else looked like they wanted to. Suddenly, a familiar screeching noise was heard, and they all turned to see out of the shadows, insects forming.

One of them screamed something that sounded like a train that slammed on the breaks, and charged forward. Johnson looked up at the light, and grabbed a grapple from his backpack. He shot it to the top and started to climb. Louis on the other hand was bathing in the blood of insects as he kept shooting and shooting them. Michaels immediately started climbing after Johnson, screaming. Louis made a motion for Brixton to go. He was about to protest, but Louis repeated the action. Brixton saluted him, and started climbing. When he made it to the top, he looked down to see Louis, about to be overrun. Johnson rushed him on, but he stayed long enough to hear a horrid scream, and hear it being cut off.

== Rescue ==

The helicopter was 50 yards away from them when they emerged. Michaels ran ahead while Johnson helped the limping Brixton. They finaly, finaly made it to the helicopter after what had felt like decades, and the pilot glanced at Johnson and the gash on his arm right before he blacked out.

When Johnson awoke he was in a hospital bed, with General Thompson sitting next to him. Before he could say anything Thompson immediately asked a question.

“Where are they Johnson.”

The way he said it made it seem like a statement, cold and direct. Johnson did the best he could to look up at him.

“Deceased, sir.”

Johnson slumped back down in the bed and listened to the steady beep of his IV stand. Thompson stood up and left, leaving him with:

“Enjoy your leave of absence. Your soldier wants to see you.”

Johnson looked out at the door he had exited from, and a doctor burst in carting Michaels in hospital bed. He walked up to Johnson and whispered something to him.

“Um, sir. Brixton didn’t make it. So, Michaels is in an intense state of trauma.”

The doctor walked back and left before he could reply. Michaels was blankly looking out the window at the sun for the first 5 minutes of his visit. He abruptly asked:

“Am I a clone?”

Johnson looked over at him surprised.

“No. You’re not a clone. Why would you think that?”

Michaels kept staring into space and asked again.

“Am I a clone? Tell me the truth sir, please.”

Johnson looked at Michaels and sighed. And he told him the truth. And he could see, right before Michaels was carted back to his room a small smile forming on his lips.

== Aftermath ==

Michaels had died 5 minutes later. He had gone into asphyxiation and after 2 attempts at being revived had been pronounced dead. Johnson made a full recovery, and was promoted to Master Sergeant. He didn’t take a leave of absence, and after 2 years he had still not taken one. He made his way up to Command Sergeant Major, but when he suffered a major leg injury was cornered into to stepping down at 58. When he stepped down he came back to his old farm, seeing it for the first time in forty four years. He came to see that the area had been ransacked insects. He went through files to find that his father had died a week before the raid in a car accident, and mother and sister were killed during it. What was left of the house was shambles, and the old rocking chair his grandfather used to sit in out front still remained on the decaying porch. He moved to the suburbs after and had only taken that old rocking chair with him from his house. Every day after, he would get up and sit in the chair, hold up a photo of Michaels and think about past times. He repeated the process, even after when he went blind.

== Night ==The fire crackled around the fireplace, slowly charring the bricks that were laid craftily onto the side of it. The first of winter frost outside began to creep into the windows and swirl up the usually warm and moist air of belgium. The house shuttered on loose hinges as wind gushed upon it. And, not 50 miles away, more than 700,000 men laid dead on the cold ground. But, the small wooden house was warmly lit with candles and holding a measly few of the British Expeditionary Force stood. Huddling around, the men clutched to their guns, as if another fight would break out at any moment, and cramped near the dimly-lit fire.

Louis Rolland stepped down the creaking stairs to the fireplace where the soldiers were. As he looked to them, they all we staring at him, tence, some even clutching their guns. He continued to tiptoe through the dead of night, now showing a tray stacked with food. “I don’t have much, this is some leftovers from…”, he trailed off placing the leftovers and cups next to them on the hard oak wood. Many still held their guns tightly, scared, cold looks staring dead at him. He walked back up the stairs without a word. The grandfather clock chimed eleven when he got to the second floor. He slid off his slippers and walked through the hall quietly. When passing through, a soft sound emitted from one of the rooms.

“Daddy?”

Louis sighed, and turned to his daughter’s undecorated bland room. He walked in and flicked the light. The lightbulb sputtered for a moment, before failing to turn on at all.

“Daddy, is that you?”

Louis relaxed his shoulders and walked to the mattress.

“Yes, Yes Jaime its daddy.”

Jaime’s eyes twinkled in the cool moonlight for a second before she rolled over to him and hugged him.

“Daddy who are those people down stairs?”

Louis’ dim smile faded and he let out another sigh.

“No one, sweetie.”

“When will they leave.”

He stood up and stood by the dark hall.

“Tomorrow, they’ll be gone by tomorrow sweetie, I promise.”

He knew that he had no choice when they left, but his daughter seemed to calm down. As he left she softly whispered into the night,

“Goodnight daddy.”

He did not hear her, and shut the door as he tiptoed away into the abyss of night.

This story is currently in an unfinished state and this thread is only to ask for a preliminary review, suggestions, and overall to see if I should continue to develop the plot of the story or if it would be better to dump it entirely.

Comments and suggestions are completely welcome.

----== Voltrovox - Radio Receiver ===== Product information ===The Voltrovox Radiotomic Receiver was a product developed and marketed by Voltrovox inc. in the early to mid-1960s. The aim of the product was to facilitate the setup of a global television broadcasting system that would see broadcasts switched from an analogue OTA (over the air) signal to a digital one.

The switch would allow much more audio and video detail to be encoded into the broadcast stream in such a way that the end result would be what we would call today high definition.

Voltrovox inc. developed the first commercially viable model of the Radiotomic Receiver in June of 1962 and had 20,000 units ready for sale by Christmas that year. Broadcast stations in cities like New York and Atlanta had working towers up by that autumn and began broadcasting content over the new medium before the product was released.

Due to the way in which the broadcasts were aired some pre-release media was accidentally intercepted and archived by the University of North Carolina department of radio tech. Many of these archives were lost when the basement of the university flooded in 2016 as a result of Hurricane Matthew. Other than these tapes there are no other saved recording of the content broadcast to the devices.

After numerous customer complaints and FCC backlash Voltrovox pulled their receiver from the market and subsequently went under in September of 1965.

=== Consumer complaints ===While the bulk of complaints were about technical issues relating to the receiver; things such as programming being unavailable in their city, units dead on arrival, and some electric shocks from the shoddy production there were some that stood out but, from internal company transcripts, were ignored.

Many of the bizarre complaints originate from consumers in the heartland who mistakenly ordered the product even though the ad had not listed any content providers in those states. Many of these people reported in that their receivers were not picking up any picture or, when it did, the quality was even worse than what they had. Some even went as far as to say that the picture was crystal clear but the programming was completely acceptable.

No one was ever able to archive the recordings of the phantom signals but customer accounts left in the hands of careless tech support workers give us a rough picture of what was going on in America's bread basket.

''I am writing to you today to lodge a complaint against your Radiotomic Receiver.''

''After following the included instruction manual and setting it up with our television set my husband and I have been unable to tune the receiver to local stations. Try as we might the only thing that it seems to pick up is a poorly recorded puppet show in a foreign language.''

''After many hours spent tinkering my husband and his friend were unable to find a solution and to top it off he was given quite a shock in the process. At church one of my choir sisters told me that she too could only receive the strange puppet show and that she figured it was some communist propaganda on account of the program being recorded in Russian.''

''Now I want to tell you right now that we are a pure God fearing Christian household and we will not stand for defective products nor communist indoctrination. Please send us a telephone number that we can call to demand a refund.''

''Sincerely,''

''Emma Kosticzek, a concerned customer''

'''Follow up:'''

After receiving this complaint a letter was sent in response informing Emma that the company could not issue a refund as their ads clearly stated which areas had service and which ones did not. They also gingerly pointed out that the back of the receiver contains an electric shock warning and that tampering with the device is what caused it. Lacking in the letter was an acknowledgement of the reported program though this is speculated to be because the company assumed that it was a fabrication.

This letter is known as it was returned to the company one year later after being released from a police department evidence locker. Nothing further is known about the customer and no charges were filed against Voltrovox.

==== Report: [INDIRECT] John Doe (Adams County, Iowa) January 5th, 1963 ====An ad was run in a local paper with the author asking for someone with a working knowledge of the Russian language. The ad stated that a sum of $5 would be paid hourly for translation services and that those interested should contact them by phone for more information.

'''Follow up:'''

One man who claims to hail from St. Petersburg, Russia followed up with the ad only to be presented with a television set playing nothing but static. Having thought this was some sort of joke he attempted to leave the residence only to be confronted with the confusion and later rage of the man whom hired him.

It is alleged that after repeated attempts to get him to watch, and to subsequently translate the static broadcast, the unknown man became increasingly agitated to the point of slashing at the Russian native's chest with a knife. Having been able to flee the attack he made his way to the neighboring house and promptly phoned the authorities.

Upon arrival the police searched the house where they found a television set, a Voltrovox receiver, and the deceased body of another man in the cellar. The unnamed Russian native was able to confirm that the corpse did not belong to the assailant and an investigation was opened into the suspected murder of one and the assault of another.

It seemed that the house this incident had taken place in was foreclosed upon by the bank three years prior and were unaware of anyone living on the premise. Neighbors also testified to not having seen anyone enter or exit the home leading up to the assault.

After two years of investigation the department closed the case as cold and nothing has come of it to this day.

Today me and the tema moved into our small cabin in the dark,long,misty forests to study the strange activites such as strange shadow people that stare at them and mess around with there mental health that people say lurk here,I haven't been here that long and I already feel like I'm being watched by something strange but maybe I'm being a bit paronoid,I brushed it off ,well I better get unpack long day of exploring this place

Day 2

Dear Diary,

Well,saw the illusive "Shadow people." they didn't do much except stare at us,we tried to walk closer the atmosphere changed from a rich,clean air to a poor,dirty air despite the sudden change in air we pressed on wanting to get to them.No uses by the time we got to where they were gone, dissapointed we went back to the cabin by the time we got there we heard wispering saying "You don't know what we've been through.". worst of all was the children screaming,begging for their lives. Some of us haunted by what we heard barely got any sleep. What's done is done after all I'm sure there will be more disturbing things to haunt us.Tommorrow is another day.

Day 5

Dear Diary,

Shit's going down,the voices are getting louder as we get closer and closer to what I'm going refer to as "Mistakes." Well one attacked us and got one of us good, bastards killed someone, we can't get out, we've tried escaping they blocked us of,they are to smart,this one is short I've got to get out of here as fast as I can.Tommorrow is another day.

Day 7

Dear Diary,

I encountered a different species from the mistakes, they seem more buff,aware and cruler, they also seem to attack more,I'm lucky there was only one there at this point I was starving I had to try kill it after all one dies for another to survive right? It put up a good fight but after about an half an hour it was dead I remember the screech it made, a scream of pure agony,I knew that scream would alert the others,with my kill I quickly ran of.Tommorrow is another day

Day 9

Dear Diary,

God there coming for me,fast, the mistakes and the new speicies where do I go? This madness is affecting me and my mental health,which isn't best to begin with, I have to out of here now before it's to late. There's a cave near here maybe I could stay near there for the night.Oh god,t-the other memembers of my team where there,only heavly wounded,nearly all of them we dead,for the one's that weren't I put them out of there missery, it was the right thing to do right? I snapped into a rage as I started to hear the voices of my beloved ones screaming "WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE US!?" I couldn't do anything except embrace the fact that I'm going to lose my sanity here.Tommorrow is another day.

Day 12

Dear who ever is reading this,

They're closing in on me everystep I take, this is not fucking funny,this is torture,I see a group of people and I'm hungry,haha I've got food to last a few weeks now. No! I have to warn them to get out of here so they don't make the same mistake as I did. "You monster, why did you kill them?" the voices rang inside of my head like a clock, tick tock,tick tock. I'm not human anymore,I know it I have to warn everyone to never come here again. While trying to warn the group I got attacked by one of mistakes,I managed to get out alive but the new group were dead.

Tommorrow is another day,

Day 15

Dear reader,

I'm not human,I'm one of them,everyday slowly and slowly I'm becoming more like them or is it my sanity gone,anyway I think this is my last entry I hear a banging on my door. Goodbye world.

Anything to do with ideas or help with site development. Want to add a bunch of music videos? Want to upload a pile of creepy art/drawings? Bring it up here. I wanna hear any and all ideas, as long as they don't come from Pen E. Flirter.